


Lunacy

by kathakoito



Category: Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: Historical Inaccuracy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathakoito/pseuds/kathakoito
Summary: He hopes the Americans descend upon them right now; it would be the perfect time to die.





	Lunacy

Pole has insisted on staying up again, the light of the lamp on the table barely enough to illuminate the document he is poring over – or perhaps what makes reading so difficult is the growing heaviness of his eyelids. He strains the muscles around his eyes, urging himself to stay awake, but the vision before him blurs and fades to black. He regains consciousness in someone’s arms, feeling cotton rubbing against his right cheek. He stirs to look at the person carrying him, and a soft shush greets him.

“Don’t move,” he hears Miong’s voice say. “I’m taking you to bed.”

Pole looks up at Miong tiredly, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the halls. Miong carries no light with him and all of the lamps have been extinguished.

“I apologize. You shouldn’t be looking after me like this. It’s beneath you.”

Miong chuckles softly. “I don’t think so. You’ve been carrying me through the darkest times, the least I can do is return the favor.”

“I must be heavy,” Pole says.

“Are you? I didn’t notice,” Miong replies. “When I see your sleeping face, I forget everything else.”

Pole feels warmth pool in his belly and spread up over his face. “Señor, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make such scandalous jokes, especially at this hour.”

Miong ignores him momentarily to open the door to his chambers, but he quickly returns to teasing him once the door creaks open. “Is it teasing if it’s true? The moonlight fell on your cheeks as you dozed – you looked like the subject of a painting. Had I been an artist, I would've called you my muse.”

Pole feels his face grow warmer and he is grateful for the cloak of darkness. Surely, Miong cannot see the red spreading over his face? “Now I know you’re teasing, Señor. No sane artist would ever choose me as their subject, much less their muse.”

Miong lays him down on his bed and Pole feels his body relax over the soft sheets. Finally, the president can leave and he can stop wondering if his words carried any weight in them or if all of this is fueled by the presence of the full moon and the lunacy it inspires.

“You must not have met many artists, if you would describe one as sane,” Miong mutters as he unlaces Pole’s shoes for him.

“Really, I can do that myself,” Pole protests, half sitting up in attempt to bat him away, but Miong has already slipped both shoes off of his feet. Pole huffs as Miong turns his back to put the shoes away. Pole begins to undo the buttons on his shirt, but pauses when he remembers how indecent it would be to begin undressing in front of the president. Miong catches him attempting to redo his buttons and laughs.

“What are you doing? Do you plan to sleep in that? You’ve been wearing it all day.”

Pole huffs again. “I would like to change, but certainly not while you’re here.”

“And what would you change into? Your servant did not lay out your bedclothes for you.”

Pole turns his head and, just as Miong told him, there are no change of clothes lying on his bedside table.

“I’ll fetch them for you,” Miong offers.

“No, it’s fine.” Miong frowns. Even in the darkness, Pole can make out the knots on his forehead.

“Why must you always deny my offer to help? It’s ten steps to your dresser, Pole. Maybe less.”

Pole shakes his head, despite another voice in his mind saying 'let him'. “It’s inappropriate.”

A few seconds of silence stretch between them. Miong wonders exactly what it is that stands between them that makes Pole unable to accept his offer of friendship. Pole indicates the door, silently asking him to leave. A rush of impulsiveness hits Miong, and he returns instead to Pole’s bedside, hands reaching for the buttons on Pole’s shirt.

“Señor!” Pole yells, startled.

Miong shushes him. “Really now, you’ll wake up the whole neighborhood.”

Pole struggles against him and Miong climbs astride him, knees on either side of Pole’s hips and elbows planted over his stomach, and _oh_ , Pole is in danger of being found out. Throwing himself into his studies should have been enough of a distraction, but the warm press of Miong’s body over his, and the excitement in his veins, still coursing through him from the night’s teasing – _oh, oh_. He hopes the Americans descend upon them right now; it would be the perfect time to die.

“Pole?” Pole closes his eyes in resignation; his chance to serve the nation torn from him and tarnished by his unholy desires. He feels Miong’s hands lift from his chest, his shirt unbuttoned all the way down. He feels cool air over the slight line of exposed skin. And he jumps, sitting half-up, to complete wakefulness when a hand cups his crotch.

“Señor?” He gasps, bewildered. He can barely make out the expression on Miong’s face, but fear makes him think he sees disgust there. He wants to deny his desire, but how can he now that Miong knows? Can feel it clearly, even. Miong shushes him again.

“Lie down.”

“Señor…” He pleads. He wants to ask Miong to forget this ever happened but a heavy hand forces him down and he closes his eyes in defeat. He wonders where the first punch would land. But the hand on his shame would not leave. Instead it presses down gently, rubbing, stimulating him in ways Pole would never have done himself. Pole bites down on his bottom lip and turns his head towards the pillow to hide his face when he hears himself, his breathing so loud and heavy in the silent room, the “mm, mm” low and rumbling in his throat. Oh, this is where things are going. Pole tells himself he must have entered a fever dream. His desires have finally broken through the gates of self-deprivation. He feels the mattress dip around him, and then a hand encircles his arm, and soft lips trail kisses over his neck, collarbone, chest. His hips begin moving in sync with the hand and he loses himself in the heat, the pressure. He feels it building under his skin, his muscles seizing, breathless gasps muffled into the pillow “ah, ah”, and all too quickly he finds himself releasing into the cotton of his underpants, whole body twitching under the continued ministrations of the hand. He makes a noise of protest when the pleasure passes but the hand keeps touching him to the edges of pain.

“S-stop,” he gasps finally. The weight of another body over him lifts, but Pole is still too terrified to open his eyes.

“Pole? Are you…?”

Pole feels the tears well up beneath his eyelids. He buries his face into the pillow as sobs begin to bubble up from his throat.

“I’m sorry!” They both gasp – Miong frantic and tense, torn between holding Pole again and jumping off of the bed to give Pole his space; Pole hysterical with the revelation of his secret and what it means now, how it changes things. Miong tries to leave the bed, but Pole’s hand makes a blind grab for his shirt. He lets himself get dragged by the sleeve to lie on Pole’s side as Pole composes himself.

“I’m sorry,” Miong whispers, running a soothing hand up and down Pole’s back. “I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have done that.”

For once, Pole does not know what to say, the different sides of him warring as he considers the best answer: Yes. You should not have done that. Now my unwelcome desires can never be contained. Or should it be no, what happened was not entirely unwelcome? Pole settles against Miong’s chest as his sobs dissipate and lethargy settles over him, twice heavier than before. He should say something, he thinks, but sleep beckons and could no longer be postponed, and some defeatist part of him advises that he could always pretend it never happened in the morning. Miong’s heart falls when Pole’s breath evens out and he realizes that his adviser has fallen asleep. He spends a sleepless night wondering if this is the last time he can hold Pole.


End file.
